Paul Taylor, As Is guitarist, writes: -
 
Well, I don't believe this, but this is actually the FOURTH time I've started to reply to you over the past couple of days, since discovering your very unexpected message.
 
I've so far spent about two hours writing, and the result is these four lines of text. I seem to have developed a knack for finding and pressing the secret "delete all your fuckin' work" key on my e-mail folder (I never was very good at this techie shit!)

Well, well, well, well, well, well, well ... and so on and so forth. I guess I could keep on saying that all night, such is my state of delighted amazement at receiving your missive. Talk about a blast from the past, Mr P! It is truly wonderful to "hear your voice again".

 
And I am, indeed, hearing your voice, having been prompted by a nostalgic (and at times almost tearfully sentimental) reading of your As Is website section to go and dig out my one hissy tape of that rather wonderful sound we used to make, all four of us. If I may be so indiscreet, WE WERE FUCKIN' GREAT!
 
It fair put me in proper sentimental mood, it did, thar knows, Jimbo, my old son. Took me right back to what I still regard as one of the best times of my life so far, from which I carry many happy, smiley memories.
 
I must admit, I don't recall "the Dolce Vita incident", but I'm sure the dickhead got what he deserved! Obviously didn't know who he was messing with!
 
I do, however, have a few highlights which I'll mention briefly and in no particular order, in case any are worthy of use: -

...seeing you for the first time at the Corn Exchange with our old friends from Choy-Choi (all I was trying to say was, "I've never seen so much ego crammed alongside such little creativity into such cheesily tight leather pants", and anyway, what's wrong with the simple truth?!).

...meeting you very shortly afterwards, which I seem to recall was in a crowded, narrow and extremely sweaty bar in that pub next to the Corn Exchange (the Golden Lion, was it?)...the Friday/Saturday evenings spent with our circle of good guys in the hotel bar at the top of Lower Brook Street (White Horse?)

...the excitement (and abject terror, as must now, I realise, have been patently obvious) of being asked to audition for As Is

...the delight of getting the job

...the feeling of fate when I found my white Ibanez Roadster in that second-hand shop off the Felixstowe Road (which I've still got, along with my blatty little Marshall, and which still bears the marks of that last gig at Felixstowe)

...playing my first gig (or was it half-gig?) at the Old Times as the newest As Is YTS trainee

...watching the crowds there grow over the months and feeling the buzz around the band

...being chatted up by Leila after one such occasion

...driving all the way to Manchester to be "done up like a right set of kippers" by that lying twat with the mafia overcoat and furiously vowing to issue a fatwah against him in your flat, after we'd seen that horrifying (and somehow acutely embarrassing) TV exposé on the bastard

...standing on the stage at the Corn Exchange, hearing the most awesome "live" sound I've ever been a part of blasting out of that Celestion rig, while the crowd jumped up and down

...I remember (or should I say, barely remember) many great parties, often after our gigs at the Old Times, surrounded by a crowd of "sorted" people passing round excessive amounts of ale and drugs. I very dimly recall crawling round and round the outside of a circle of people at some such event, uttering that immortal piece of astral poetry "I know what I am, I'm a little clockwork man...." Christ, that followed me around. I've still got the little clockwork rowing boat that, I think, Reado got for me one birthday, or Christmas, with that line taped to its bow. I mean, hooww stoned?

...and that great beach barbecue party down at Aldburgh, when Chris set up his PA with the generator and we all slept in the back of a Transit

...the gigs in Grimsby, when we lost something like £80 on the pool table and I went off, so pissed I was seeing treble, and decided it would be a top idea to drive back to the digs (and my well-deserved and humbling stitch-up with the fake bullet holes on the car the next morning)

...hearing the sound of As Is echoing down the streets of Ipswich town centre as we played that set on the back of a lorry all the way to Christchurch Park

...recording at Brook House (where I seem to recall the engineer took rather a shine to one of you guys - in fact, wasn't it you, you silver-tongued charmer?!)

...sitting in tears round the kitchen table at Pat's, feeling like the world had ended, after Reado broke up our little family with his bad news (I don't know about you, but it really felt that bad to me, like I'd lost something very special that afternoon. In hindsight, I still think so)

 
These are the memories which spring readily to mind from those truly wonderful times we had. Apart from them, and my one remaining As Is tape, I've got a few pictures (you and me outside the church - you in your rather fetching little pink number, at Steve's wedding; Reado and Steve being saddoes on the sofa at that second place I used to live, us on stage at various places).
 
Me? Since As Is, I've been constantly involved in music-making, going from light guitar harmony pop, through to hardcore guitar/dance crossover, and at the moment me and my current long-term partner-in-musical-crime, Stevie R, are busy working towards our first album's-worth of dancey-styleee stuff.
  
Anyhow, having finally reached the end of my train of thought (I've just rolled a nice fat one and am currently raising it in your honour), I'll sign off, as it were...
 
May the blessings of whatever might be out there be upon you, my brother.
 

Love,

 Paul T.

 

Shane Kirk, previously of World Service and As Is mk.2, writes: -

Storming contribution Mr P. Ah - waistcoats and mullets, wherefore art though now? No mention of the infamous 'Badlands' video shoot, however ? And really, you got a gold disc for that tape! (talk about doing favours for people...) Sterling performance from the man they're already referring to as the new Giles Smith, I say.

 

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